


An Apex Clone in the Zeno Colony

by Bradsucks



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memeworld AU, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-02-25 22:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bradsucks/pseuds/Bradsucks
Summary: three completely unconnected dabbles to test out AO3





	1. Laughter - memeworld au

_I do not fear the darkness, I fear what is inside of it._

Flaming red Cheetos and clam chowder tinted bile dribbled over his papery lips in thin strands. His chest felt as if it was constricted underneath iron chains, squeezing his aching lungs. A firework of emotions shot of in his stomach, smoldering sparks bouncing around from his liver to his gall bladder. Rapid and shallow breathing left his vomit lined mouth. Despite it all, he could not look away.

Slumping against the countertop, Edd’s inanimate head sagged downward and his limbs spread at doll-like angles. His skull resembled a deflated balloon, a hollow bowl on the crown of his forehead where the steel bat made impact. Crinkling bits of white bone littered his bloodied head like dandruff. Congealed blood melted down his neck like candle wax in morbid vines. Two hickory eyes were hidden behind a curtain of scarlet liquid.

A crimson snake trailed from the gamer’s withered sneakers and overflowed on the ivory tiled floor. Stopping at the capsized table, a rusty steel bat laid innocently in the gleaming puddle of sludge. Tom analyzed the continuous discord of the kitchen. His tungsten light-bulbs flickered from the splintered kitchen window, red sink faucet—Edd had a momentary pleasure of smashing out four of Matt’s teeth by pushing the ginger into the metal structure—, broken drink glasses, muddled shelves, and burning pan on the stove.

Furiously, the skittish brunette shook his head back and forth and refused to accept the scenery. Matt’s ‘fits’, as they discreetly called them, had begun to dwindle away for the past weeks. More than often, the red eyed ginger was no longer enclosed in his bedroom. For an attack to happen without common symptoms, it left Thomas Dreadwell at a loss for words.

However, a plain sentence was able to manifest through the tornado of whirling anxiety mixed with fear that circulated through his vesicles. Grabbing the steel bat by the faded monochrome handle, he growled “, fuck this.” Without another glance spared for Edward, he walked out of the kitchen.

Floorboards, that never creaked before, shrieked and wailed underneath his black socks like a burlap sack of newborn kittens before their watery execution. And why wouldn’t they? Who could possibly ignore the stench of fear swelling in the air like a balloon? It was the smell of propane and Coca-Cola that reeked throughout the halls like a heavy musk. In this household, fear flourished.

His head flickered left and right, double-checking each inch of carpet and dust for any peculiarities. Tom’s knuckles were bleach white against the bat. A pristine moon was the only lightning—the power-outage was what triggered him to venture out into the house, along with the eerie laughter. Walking down the corridor, the ombré haired male started to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth like Edd use to do when signaling Ringo into a room.

Click. Click. Click.

Each step was a negotiation, a negotiation between the humane curiosity and raw instinct of flight. Steel bat slipping in his sweaty hands, Tom tightened his grip around the weapon and strangled it. He was almost to the attic, the heinous source of all the suffering.

Click. Click. Click.

As Tom passed Edward’s bedroom, he jostled the jagged door open and peered cautiously inside. If was going to move forward, he wanted to be assure a murderer was not stalking behind him. When the hinges Tord’s door caterwauled with the intense accuracy of a C note—a sound a musician like Tom could only decipher—, he remembered the phase about how curiosity slaughtered the cat.

Click. Click. Click.

However, Tom was not positive satisfaction would resurrect him as he stared into Tord’s red room. As Matt charged at him—shrieking like a Native American before they scalped a human—with his glittering knife poised in the air, he was very doubtful. A yelp escaping the brunette, Tom stumbled backwards as the fluorescent light implanted in his sockets snapped on. In response, a blinded Matt stumbled backwards in unison.

Stupefy, the bat tumbled and rolled out of Tom’s hands as he howled in pain. Kneeling, his quivering fingers groped his burning white face as his pale yellow teeth gridded against one another. Blinking rapidly, the light-bulbs flickered on and off as Tom grew dizzier by the nanoseconds. Finally, he snatched up the steel bat and turned towards the sunset orange haired male who rubbed his eyes in annoyance, mumbling curses.

Raising the bat, Thomas brought it down on the pallid hand that clenched the knife like it was a life preserver. Tendrils tightened as Matt screamed in pain, the knife clattering to the ground. His index and middle finger bent backwards into a twin set of bloodied stumps, dislocated. Once more raising the bat, Tom prepared to end it all for tonight. However, he was dumbfounded when a ceramic anime figurine was smashed over his head.

White stars sparkled vibrantly in his mind as the brunette slumped to the floor in powerful agony. His head felt like a watermelon cracked open. Blood dribbled down his nose from his forehead as his mouth murmured “, he...h-heh...lp...m-me...Ma..att.”

Picking back up his knife, Matthew sauntered over to the injured male who tightly gripped onto Matt’s jeans in a silent plead. Grinning, the ginger shook the pale hand off his jeans and watched delightfully as it twitched in the ground like a cockroach. “I can’t say you were my favorite, can’t say I really even liked you, but this is difficult to some extent.” He paused. “Well, to be frank, no it’s not,” he spoke with glee.

Suddenly, a laugh of hysteria, bordering on unbridgeable insanity, boomed throughout the household. The laughter was always the last thing you hear and Thomas supposed it was the worst thing about this. The worst thing was listening to a man lose his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little oneshot for the Memeworld AU, decided to start this cesspool off with a blast of blood. Creator of AU is Saladtroll006 on Eddsworld Amino.


	2. Boys Don’t Cry - hellucard/paul

 

-Though it was a rushed and impulsive decision, the wedding had meant the world to them. It had been inevitable since their first summer together, playing cops and robbers by the creek and failing at catching frogs. Inseparable, Paul and Hellucard denied the world's policy hand in hand and it made the wedding more impacting. A simple decade separated them from their love being a criminal offense to their love being written lawfully with quivering hands on a certificate promising happiness. Paul preferred the latter. Although, both would had been content being lawless lovers as long as they had each other.

-Their wedding occurred possessing a dream-like quality. Despite the traditional Bollywood taboo, there was a divine significance to each specific detail. After all, it was their wedding.

-Off crinkled papers, a priest read the vows, ensuring that two separate people would share their hopes and dreams as one. Paul swore against it, but Dominic knew his chestnut eyes glistened with tears when the priest asked ", will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and health; and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

-Additionally, Paul disagreed that his hand quivered as he slipped the ring on Hellucard's finger, but Card vindicated that Paul trembled as if he was standing over the San Andreas fault line. In defense, Paul accused Hellucard of pacing the rehearsal hallway before his queue to walk down the aisle. No matter what Hellucard protested, it was entirely true.

-The reception was held underneath an orchid white, enormous tent with dangling, honey lanterns. Numerous, pastel blue cloaked tables rested on hardwood floors. Vases of red anemones and forget-me-not blue delphiniums soaked in the vibrant energy, promising a greater future. A musician played light music on his acoustic guitar as children raced one another in a game of freeze tag. Faces of relatives smiled as the atmosphere buzzed with excited chatter like fluttering wings in a beehive. Then, the groom and groom walked in.

-A standing ovation emerged as the newlywed couple walked in. Children were frantically shushed as applause roared loudly. Both walked in with cherry red cheeks, sheepishly grinning at their infinite repository of love.

-Slowly, a soulful piano emerged peacefully as the guitarist—Thomas Redwood—struck a different note. Realizing the males' objective, the clapping dissolved into the almost jazzy, light music. In the beginning, it was stiff, uncomfortable, and awkward as they rarely danced together. Yet the music seemed to guide them.

-Paul gingerly placed his hand on the small of Hellucard's back as they swayed against one another. The blonde rested his head on Paul's shoulder and closed his eyes, the Dutchman's scent was intoxicating. Their breathes mingled together, souls interwoven with one another. Sweetly, Paul pressed a kiss to his husband's ear and triggered a sudden jolt from the shorter groom. Relaxing with a hum, Card leaned back into the embrace and whispered ", I really, really love you."

-Chortling, the Dutchman responded ", well, I would hope so. We did just get married about ten minutes ago."

-Nuzzling into his lapel, Card felt a smoldering pain in his raven black irises as he sniffed lightly. A complete serenity veiled over him, briny tears were glued to damp clumps to his eyelashes. It was all so peaceful, such a rarity. He tightened his grip onto his husband's hand, nails digging into pallid flesh. "Kick me if I start crying."

-"Hey," the brunette said softly, placing his fingers underneath Card's chin to tilt his head upward. "Boys don't cry," Paul smiled.

-Quickly, he kissed the set of watermelon pink, quivering lips. The crescendo of the piano dwindled away, lowering in volume as their dance ended and their bodies retracted from one another. Fingers still interlocked, they smiled at the roaring applause as Card quickly dabbed the pathetic watery diamonds brewing inside. There would be a time and place for those later.

-Sitting down at the head table, Hellucard grinned smugly as the table of bachelors and mutual friends started clicking their utensils against their glassware, mockingly making kissy noises at the grim brunette. Sighing, Paul rapidly pressed a kiss against Card's lips—earning a few whoops—and cringed underneath the extensive attention. However, the Dutchman would get vengeance by pitching a slab of vanilla cake into the blonde's face. Soon, the clapping withered away as the toastmaster—Pat Devonport—stood up, hitting his drink with a fork, and exchanged the first heartfelt speech of thousands moments of tears.

-"Hey, everybody! Can I have your attention for a minute or two? These two studs have done me the honor of including me in their wedding today and I just have a few words to say.

-"Now, I've known Paul since we were kids and throughout the hardships of college. In kindergarten, he introduced himself about hitting me in the face with a rubber kickball." A few laughs emanated from the crowd and Pat smiled. "Yeah, good times. He's been my partner in crime ever since then, he's extraordinarily kind hearted and compassionate underneath all that gruff exterior. He's a great man—although, he didn't always share leftover pizza. Also, I know that Hellucard has brought out the best of him. I knew these two were soulmates on the spot, I've never met a couple as in love as these tw-two."

-Pat coughed gently into his hand, choking up abit at the sudden rush of emotion in his desert of a throat. Watery diamonds glistened on his eyelashes as he continued, a shimmering gold glass raised upward ", they taught me that a relationship isn't about how many times you say ', I love you' but it's about how you prove your admiration through the small things. For that lesson, I raise a toast to the happiest couple in the room. May you both be rich in blessings and poor in misfortunes. Congratulations to the grooms!"

-A few congratulations emerged from the crowd, but most people's lips found the wineglass before the words. Hellucard's three year old niece had even took part, raising her bottle of milk and smiling behind her golden locks. Snickering, Card took a sip as Paul pulled Pat in for a taut hug.

-As Paul returned to his seat, Card nudged him with his shoulder and grinned ", didn't know Pat would actually cry a river."

-"Oh, he's just an emotional mess during weddings plus he's been drinking a little bit," Paul justified, watching Edd stand up to a microphone to toast in Hellucard's honor next. "You think Edd swapped his wine out for cola?"

-"Probably. Let's see if he's gonna break the waterworks as well," Hellucard replied. He looped his arm around the brunette's broad shoulders. This was perfection, he was sure. Having the center of his universe in his embrace, Hellucard was content laying on a billowing Cloud Nine. Everything was looking up for the better.

-A week past and white sheets showed up at the threshold at inhuman speed, similar to Harry Potter's letters from Hogwarts. To Hellucard's disappointment, he would not be joining Ravenclaw anytime soon. Taxes for the wedding collected in their condo's mailbox, charges for the serving staff, fancy food, and countless other things outrageously high. It was like reaching into a sack of cotton and finding a razor. No more farting through silk for the newlyweds anymore.

-Sitting down on the living room couch, Paul felt the dreading weight of everything settle on him. He chewed anxiously on the filter of the unlighted cigarette clenched between his teeth. Flicking through paperwork, the Dutchman toyed around with the calculator on his thigh, pressing random numbers at this point. His brain was exhausted. Jumbled words meshed together into indecipherable scribbles of dollar signs. Money became harshly critical and he knew—no matter what flower-loving hippies said—happiness did not pay bills.

-Carelessly tossing paper aside, he shouted out to the condo's kitchen ", H, did your parents ever mention picking up the tab for anything?"

-"Powl, I'm going to explain this to you in the only way I know how," Hellucard started, stepping over the living room threshold. "A thief broke into our house last night, looking for money. So, I woke up and searched with him." Ending his humorless joke, the blonde sunk into the maroon sofa.

-"So, no Hawaii," Paul asked cautiously. Hawaii, it was going to be their honeymoon vacation to escape Britain's frigid winter but now seemed unattainable.

-"No Hawaii," his husband agreed.

-"I didn't even know you had to pay for napkins," Paul whispered in bewilderment, staring inconceivably at the papers.

-Card twisted the canary yellow ring on his finger, offering a minuscule shrug in response. After their marriage, he adopted the nervous habit of rotating the jewelry. Frequently, he fiddled with his earrings or black bracelet before the wedding. This anxious habit happened to carry over to the ring, a telltale sign to Paul.

-"Got a smoke," Hellucard asked, knocking his husband out of his trance. Hickory eyes shuffling away from the golden band, Paul plucked a cancer stick out of the crinkles package and passed it. A scarlet eye stared at the twin set of hazel eyes.

-"Oh, I love this movie," the Canadian chirped around the cigarette filter, resting his head on the brunette's shoulder.

-The blonde gingerly snuggled against Paul with a pleased hum, nestling his body into the warmth of a plush sofa and crimson turtleneck. It was a tiny slice of heaven, breathes falling in unison as fingers curled into fabric, not clenching tightly, but to reassure this was not a fantasy. Cuddling was a flawless antidote to stress. There was an euphoria to Paul of having another's body—not just another, Hellucard's—embracing his and being able to announce this comfortable, everlasting presence as his husband. Undoubtedly, nothing could be a richer ecstasy. One thing was decided on the sofa, Paul was going to make the honeymoon happen even if it cost him an arm and leg.

———

-Hellucard was tolerant to many things when coming home from work. One day, he interrupted Paul's dance with a steel ruler to the beat of 'Bang Bang' by Grande, Minaj, and Jessie J. Dining over cold Chinese noodles and teriyaki chicken, he became acquainted with a one-eyed spy from the Green Rebellion. Additionally, there was the scene where he walked in on Paul playing with their ten turtles—Hellucard had bought them after their landlord approved ownership over small animals—who were all named Henry. It was quite a sight seeing the typically solemn brunette baby-talking to Henry as it waddled it's tiny legs senselessly in kicking strokes.

-Yes, Card was impartial to many things. However, having Paul throw a beach towel over his reddened cheeks and shout ', cover your eyes!' was a new one.

-Without second thought, Hellucard's two pallid hands secured the towel over his onyx black eyes. His heart jerkingly leapt to the top of his esophagus in surprise as he quickly  asked ", wh-what happened?"

-"Oh my God, Hellucard! There's so much blood, Jesus Christ! _**IT'S EVERYWHERE!** Fuck me, Freddy,_" Paul shouted at the top of his lungs, grateful that his husband had closed the door so no bystander would hear his fake screams of panic. Moving rapidly, he clenched the blonde's shoulders between his calloused hands, shouting ", oh fuck-me-Freddy, it's even on the cookie jar."

-'The cookie jar,' Paul hissed furiously in his mind, shaking his head at such an absurd choice. Ignoring his hiccup, the brunette bellowed ", Dominic, we've got to go now. I killed an intruder, Jesus, the blood. Come into the office, I'll explain."

-If Hellucard was not so caught off guard, he would had noticed how the living room smelt of honeysuckle and shortbread cookies instead of metallic blood. Right now, his brain synapses were firing off in every direction like an internal aurora borealis. Without this fear, Hellucard would most likely had noticed the lightness in Paul's steps. It was just another one of those things, mind over matter.

-Allowing himself to be dragged off, he clasped the towel tightly over his eyes and yelled along the way ", intruder?! Powl, what are you talking about? How did someone get in our house? Better yet, why did you kill them?"

-Ignoring the questions, Paul simply guided the bumbling blonde into the condo's office space. The aroma of honeysuckle and shortbread cookies was swelling prominently, candle flames flickering. Stepping barefoot onto grainy sand, the brunette removed the winter jacket that hung disheveled on his husband's shoulders and said ", Okay, you can remove the towel now."

-Violently, Card threw the towel downward as clear agitation was etched on his screwed eyebrows and glaring coal black eyes. He opened his mouth to speak yet only sputtering syllables escaped. Gaining composure, he asked ", Powl, what the hell is this?"

-First, the blonde tried to process the scenery surrounding him. His eyes flickered from the sand dispersed across the hardwood floorboards to the dim lightning of candles burnt to pristine white stumps. An assortments of sparkling white, softly gold, and deep mauve seashells laid burrowed in the sand. Printed aesthetic posters of beaches decorated the walls, tinted sepia waves caressed a stunning shoreline underneath a spring sunshine. A radio rested on the mahogany desk, an arrangement of violet asters and orange marigolds surrounding it. Next, Card analyzed his husband's outfit.

-A floppy, tattered straw hat with a black sash dangled off his mess of mousey brown locks, the type used for gardening or relaxing. Flip-flops stripped with lemonade yellow, citrus orange, and watermelon pink waves rested on his pallid feet. Black shades covered his hazel eyes. He wore a tacky, button-up beach shirt with little green palm trees patterned over them—the kind of sad father shirts worn on Mondays when listening to Jimmy Buffet. Red swim shorts exposed his stout, hairy legs.

-Hellucard was unsure if he felt like laughing or yelling in confusion. His brain nerves sparked sporadically trying fruitlessly to make sense of the scene in front of him. There were so, so many questions and he could barley decide which one to choose first. However, Hellucard asked in a bizarre tone ", how are we going to be all the sand out?"

-Paul smiled at this, having already catalogued his procedure to dismantle the beach. "Vacuums."

-Baffled, Hellucard burrowed a index finger into his right ear and dug a small amount of canary yellow wax. Flicking the substance on the ground, he requested ", repeat, please."

-"I plan to get out the sands with vacuums," Paul said in self-satisfaction.

-"How did you even get the sand in? How did our landlord not notice?"

-"Oh, you know, a reverse vacuum," the brunette joked which earned a scowl from his Canadian husband. "Actually, I just went to the local beach, put a bunch sand into plastic bags, and brought them inside. I pretended they were groceries. No one had any idea! Now, tell me how much you love this."

-Casting his eyes to the warm sand underneath his socks, Hellucard chuckled and naively shook his head. "It's perfect," Card finally said with a smile. A genuine, mirthful grin emerged on the blonde's face as he let out a laugh, pink faced with a quivering chest. Before Paul could respond, Card pulled him tightly in for a hug, squeezing the life out of the brunette in his pallid arms as tears shined on his eyelashes. "I love you, you big softie."

-Smiling as well, Paul returned the gesture with his arms wrapped around the short male's shoulders. " _I'm_ the softie? Says the guy who circled the rehearsal hall about three times two weeks ago."

-Hellucard's foolish grin slumped into a prominent frown as he recounted ", says the little bitch who shook like a leaf when he tried to put on my ring. Pussy." A quick shove to the shoulder triggered a laugh from the tall brunette. Still frowning, Card rolled his charcoal black eyes as his lips twitched gently into another grin. Laughing, he exclaimed ", OK, we're both softies!"

-"Damn straight," Paul agreed, turning around to face the radio. He pressed the stereo's play button. As the rhythmic beat of a guitar manifested, Paul clenched two glasses of fruity, white Riesling wine in his hands. He passed one over to his husband as drums joined the guitar.

-Taking the drink, Card stared down at the alcoholic beverage and observed the citrus orange slice serrated on the edge of the glass's rim. A little violet umbrella rested on the side. Removing the umbrella, he twirled it around on his fingertips, smiling fondly. His eyes flickered upward as Robert Smith started singing. "Holy shit, this song was the summer of 2007 for me! How did you know?"

-"Because it was all you played in your car when we were sixteen," Paul laughed. "Now, are you going to dance with me or not?"

-'I would say I'm sorry if I thought that it would change your mind. But I know this time I have said too much, been too unkind.'

-Moving to the beat, Card's shoulders bounced in jubilation as his feet shuffled along the sand to the tempo. He hummed along, sipping the fruity beverage in hand. Guitar strums flowed through him as he wildly danced, hands up in the air while shouting along the song of his teenage years. Somewhere in the midst of pure excitement, the Dutchman increased the music to a deafening volume as they both shouted ", _I tried to laugh about, cover it all up with lies! I tried to laugh about, hiding the tears in my eyes! Because boys don't cry!"_

-They jumped and danced about the golden ground, bodies moving like sparks of lightning. There was no care in their movement, no pressuring stares of an audience, just two idiots dancing in their homemade Hawaii as frigid temperatures descended lower outside the condo.


	3. Cigarette Daydreams - matt/tord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Latin history, children were buried six feet under to prevent them from becoming undead. This time, Matt hopes Tord stays dead.

 

[Day 3: Mermaid AU]  
_The Unearthly Ones_

-When his task becomes subconscious like breathing, Matt wonders if it's too late to buy a new barrow with a functioning front wheel.

-As basal drippings of canary sunrise paint virescent shrubbery and diamonds are outshone, he takes packages of pungent salmon from his freezer and stacks them in the scarlet barrow. The gentle scent of morning dew greets him, anew birth crying like a baby. With a toothpick draping over a bloodless lip, he takes in familiarity before heading off to work. Frigid fish slap against one another, a sickening sound, and he takes splintering handles in pallid hands. Then, slowly in his pajamas, guides the thirty pound breakfast along lichen caked pathways with uneven ridges and bumps to the lake.

-It is a mosaic of molten lapis lazuli stirring in tranquil waves, a uneven mirror of constellations. Golden pebbles laid around the lake, a ring of grainy sand and dust like one big wedding ring. As he descends down the slanted cliff, rickety cart ricocheting on gravelly ground, Matt lifts his head to the endless skies and bellows ", Good morning, Vietnam!"

-With the awaken birds vomiting from pines, a lethal creature of mythological roots rose from his seaweed and algae throne. Scarlet fishtail thrusting through water like a gigantic snake propelling itself, he raise those webbed hands upon the dock, ghostly pallid arms following. Steely grey dots blink curiously before he leans up, elbows keeping him in the position. As the wheels tremble on planks, he greets back. "Hello, darling!"

-Matt smiles, enjoying the nickname, and drops the handles with a groan. As his shoulder's tension ebbs, he picks up the top layer of frosty gray slabs of meat. Despite his body's protests, he lifts the salmon to his chest. "Fetch?"

-The merman disappears yet Matt is not alarmed. Instead, he elevated the uncooked breakfast and impels it into the abyssal lake. Before it even nears water, a dragon snatches it in his colossal enamels and spears back into black liquor like a meticulous arrow on a bullseye. Rubbing the scarred skin of his healing shoulder, Matt watches the serpentine riffles meander through the lake towards him.

-Tord, the merman, displays the cleaned bones of the fish with immense pride. Like a cat with a dead mouse. It took him less than a minute to reach the dock, less than a minute to devour a hundred pounds of meat until the only remains were a fossil. How terrifying.

-Kicking his legs over the dock into freezing water, Matt picks up the bones, threads of salvia leaking from cream skeleton, and tosses it aside, indifferent. "You know, you are very impressive," he teases with a grin, leaning down to kiss the rubbery lips of a water demon. Instantly, spindly arms wrap around his neck, caressing him a deep kiss. Tord's tongue is like a muscular eel roaming his mouth. Odd yet pleasant.

-"I missed you." Matt smiles, lips bleeding from the tremendous amount of knives hidden in those pinkish-grey lips he kissed. His hand reaches behind his neck, touching the scar from their first meeting, a not so friendly hello when Tord mistook him as an interloper. "Want to play again?"

-Tord, who seems to posses seven bottomless stomachs, nods. How terrifying. A lot of things about him are that way, he is the unearthly one after all.

[Day 4: Angst]  
_Six Foot Deep_

-Dirt bounces, an explosion of dust and soil spreading across the mahogany tomb. Spade piercing the ground, Matt blocks out crows' screams and trees' whispers of murder with headphones. More importantly, he is able to mute the sound of a premature corpse banging on his coffin lid. The impromptu burial continues as he sings joyously.

_This is for the house._

-Despite a face lacerated like red ribbons and a blind spider-egg resting in a socket, the betrayer returned. He begged solely for forgiveness, a pardon for his deeds, and a shelter that was not a tarp under a bridge. Through that pitiful expression, Matt knew there was vile manipulation trying to puppeteer his naivety. So, he opened the door for him, head swimming with malicious tapeworms. Luckily, the gold lamp was gilded steel. Shattered porcelain would had been hard to pick up.

_This is for my friends._

-He dug through mountains of earth and switched bodies, a difficult yet rewarding task. All to reach this goal. Now, Matthew takes his rustic shovel, burrows it deeply into hickory humus and heaves into hell's abyss. In Latin history, children were buried six feet under to prevent them from becoming undead. This time, Matt hopes Tord stays dead.

_And this is for my heart._

-A thunderstorm of knocks are drowned out.

[Day 5: Headcannon]  
_Buried Alive_

-Phantom pains are a royal bitch.

-Scorching ants crawl through the invisible appendage, tearing apart flesh with their piercing pinchers. Forgotten enamels remain glued to pallid skin, snapping marrowbone like a thin piece of uncooked pasta. Copper blood is thick in nocturnal air. Grenades of pain exploding in tendrils, he is left drooling into satin covers, breathe shallowed, face mangled tightly in a grotesque picture of agony with bulbous eyes soaked in tears. In his catatonic state, past rears it's ugly head.

-Uprising blood like a stout black mamba crawling from his lungs, pressing apart his circular mouth, he cries out. The twitching undead savagely pulls his arm off like a broken doll. A firework of terror. His fingers fruitless clench around the stumpy wound, warm mud spewing down his torso, and when he feels the bone of his shoulder in his useless tourniquet, he collapses.

-They run away like dogs, abandoning him. Facedown on gravel, tiny cuts serrated on cheeks by coarse rocks, his eyes watch their contours dissolve. The black mamba strangles him, a taut coil around his twig neck, hissing _quiet little one, it will be over soon_. Muscles twitch in protest, his ashen face crying. "Help."

-Two hands come to the rescue, wiping away watery diamonds leaking from his eyes. Covered in satin and not blood, Matt finds himself resting on the billowing mattress. A sympathetic, empathetic voice is there with him. "Hey, sweetheart. It's okay. It was just a nightmare. I'm here, you're here." Loneliness is a lifetime away.

-One pallid hand reaches out to touch his two saviors drenched in his silent tears, a quivering tactile warmth. Eyelids kissed by pliant roses, sapphires stare in wonder at normalcy in eyes of smoke and hair of black. A rare open-mouth smile greets; usually conscious of a petite slot between his front teeth, a perfect impurity, Tord smiles with glued lips. The warm grin welcomes Matt as if he's been on a long expedition for years.

-"It felt real."

-Tord nods. So, guiding a glutinous green bear to trembling lips, he quickly shush down those tiny whimpers with a placebo. Raking bitten nails through rustic, damp hair, the Norwegian cradles a sick head. "I know, I know. But, it's over."

-Cocooning himself in the anchors of reality, Matt allows the edible pesticide to torch ants as one solitary leg wraps around his torso to smother him in love.

"I understand."

[Day 7: Freespace]  
_Dr. Sawbones_

-"Promise me?"

-Tord twiddles with the nickel in his leather fingers, weaving it between skin and marrowbone. Past his stained gloves, he feels the scorching surface of one coin that he had pluck from human dust. The incinerator always left the valuable parts of humans, their money. The communist solider thinks about selling a grandmother's wedding ring as he stares into the eyes of his fiancé with a grin.

-"Promise you what? We haven't even talk about anything."

-Elderly usually carry the most expensive heirlooms, which meant Tord gets a bigger reward with each nursing-home burnt to ashes. After cinders are dusted away and discolor marks are painted over, the antique ranks up to a good pay raise. What do you think led to the pure golden band on Matt's finger?

-"Promise me that you'll return home safe."

-Soldiers call him cowardly, slaughtering the feeble and useless instead of killing men in trenches. But, Tord knows he has it best. They are usually the most facile victory, usually. If the Norwegian said always, he'd be a lair. Tord Ivan Torrance is no lair.

-"Of course, I'll be safe."

-The violet beetle where Smirnoff collided with his skull drums with dull pain, one of countless physical engraving of when always morphed into usually. Always went to being tied in a basement, stripped naked in a blizzard, and his spine burnt by his own blowtorch, his own fucking tool. He had barely escaped. Only when he had crawled through yards of snow on his hands, like some Tarantino victim, with his legs numb did he finally feel safe. Who knew the notorious Dr. Sawbones would still be kicking after five hundred years?

-"Will you return safe, though?"

-Tord shuts the laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I headcannon that Matt and Tord were permanently effected by Zombeh Attack, becoming amputees.  
> Anyways, this was done for TordMatt week on Amino (decided to hop on the bandwagon). Despite the majority of this being just typing in shadows and listening to soft marshmallow music, I'm proud of it. Though, I felt The Unearthly Ones fell flat on its face.  
> Mika, I will collapse onto the pillow that is your sound.  
> Comments are appreciated.  
> ———

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [interlude to a guiltless exile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842628) by [The_Resurrection_3D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/The_Resurrection_3D)




End file.
